There is always a poem
Yet to be penned
Just one more song
You are still to sing,
One last stranger
Ought to smile at,,
And one fluttering feather
On every broken wing.
One last road,
Awaits your footsteps,
One final memory
Remains to be etched
For one surreal tale
Is always untold yet,
And a little life unlived,
Before farewells are fetched.
-debosmita
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